Not The Man I Was
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: It begins at Sectionals. It continues the week following Sectionals. And it grows just before Regionals. What's going on? Is Karofsky truly a changed man? Kurt is determined to find out. .:. post-2x08. Dave/Kurt. Contains smut in final chapter. Complete!
1. One::

**A/N: I asked my "Basic Alchemy" readers if they would read a smut-shot if I wrote one.**

**There was a resounding "yes."**

**And thus, here it is… a Dave/Kurt M-rated oneshot. Well, it was MEANT to be an oneshot, but as I wrote it, this turned into something that I knew I had to post as a multi-chaptered fic. HERP DERP DERP. 8D**

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It begins at Sectionals.

Kurt is singing with the Dalton Warblers, putting on a performance that somehow doesn't quite compare to McKinley's New Directions group, because Kurt isn't accustomed to the acapella-style of singing, and his heart isn't in it as much. Blaine is right here, by his side, but Kurt feels sick. The lights are too bright, their matching uniform-inspired costumes too hot and a tad itchy (must be cheap fabric, Kurt reasons), and it aches him to not be between Mercedes, Finn, and Puck, with Rachel nearby.

He sings the songs with them, and he sings his one solo (each member is guaranteed at least two lines' worth of a solo, since the singing group at Dalton is so damn thoughtful of everybody, so damn generous). Kurt gets a drink once he's done.

But as he returns to the stage, Kurt sees him.

Kurt spies the taller boy in the back of the auditorium, off-center from the stage and very near the doors. Kurt sees him, and as he does, his blood runs icy in his veins. He stops, stills, and stares.

The boy in the audience doesn't notice at first. His eyes seem to be searching, and there's a loose smile on his face. He looks… relieved. Contented.

…_Changed,_ somehow. Kurt can't place how. Maybe it's the missing letterman jacket. Maybe it's the lack of a scowl on his face. Or maybe it's the visible loss of at least ten pounds, something utterly probable for a hockey-and-football playing jock who usually eats thousands of calories a day to keep up with his burning of them on the field or in the rink. But the weight loss, Kurt can tell by the lack of cushion in the older boy's cheeks, came from a lack of eating. Possibly skipping meals.

He stares, and after a while, when he has to go back on for the last song… he realizes all too sharply that Karofsky's searching gaze is _looking for Kurt._ And as soon as he spies Kurt on the stage, and Kurt _stares back _but the jock _still doesn't notice__,_ Karofsky's grin broadens considerably and his eyebrows relax and his shoulders fall, as if loosing their tension of anticipation.

And it smacks Kurt in the face, the sudden _understanding_ of the situation: _Dave Karofsky _missed_ Kurt in the week-or-so the soprano had been absent._

A shiver runs through Kurt, and as he returns his gaze to his bully, the taller boy notices all too quickly that Kurt is _looking directly at him,_ and suddenly he looks ashamed of himself, and he suddenly bolts out of his seat and flees out the doors. Apparently, Karofsky hadn't planned on getting caught. Apparently, Karofsky isn't comfortable with being spotted.

Kurt's blood warms and flows again, and a bit shakily at first, he starts to sing again.

The only thing that runs through his mind is: why had Karofsky come here to see Kurt (and not pummel him?), and why didn't he want Kurt to know (so that he could pummel him?)?


	2. Two::

It continues the week following Sectionals.

Kurt's new Glee Club won second place after his old Glee Club. Blaine, ever the saint, seems unfazed by this. He knows that they still have a shot during Regionals, and he's psyched for it. He informs the Warblers of their new list of songs, to start practicing the next time they meet (which is tomorrow). And Kurt smiles plainly as he accepts the list.

It's a fine mix of show tunes and new songs and two mash-ups, plus three '80s tunes. One song in particular amuses Kurt, as it hails from none other than Little Shop of Horrors. 'Feed Me,' naturally. To be sung by who, he hasn't a clue, but it appears to be mainly a duet like in the film, but with no music whatsoever; all background vocals. He smiles wryly, and stuffs the packet of music into his shoulder bag.

"So, what do you think of my song choices?" Blaine says with a coy smile; ever the leader, ever seeking approval.

"I think 'Feed Me' is a stretch, Madonna is _so_ three decades ago and already too familiar with me from a rampage Sue Sylvester went on, and that you need to pick a less dull Katy Perry song than 'Firework.'" Kurt replies, brutally honest and yet flirtatious at the same time, as always.

Blaine chuckles. "Well, all right then. Let's talk about it and change it."

Kurt raises an eyebrow. That's not something he's heard often before. "Really?"

The tall, dark, and handsome gentleman nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, of course! I love getting feedback from my Glee members, and I like honoring their opinions with results."

The new kid blinks, mouth agape lightly, then smiles and offers a cordial nod. "Well, all right. But not now; my creative juices aren't flowing. Maybe over coffee before school tomorrow morning…?" he hints, trying to squeeze in a date. He and Blaine are merely friends, but Kurt honestly wouldn't mind being more than that.

Except Destiny seems to be on vacation in the Bahamas with Oprah, because Destiny sweeps Kurt's chances away, under the rug and forgotten.

Blaine makes a sucking-in noise through his teeth, then says, "Ooh. Sorry, Kurt. I'd love to, but I'm already going to meet up with Zachary tomorrow for coffee. It's our thing, you understand," he mutters shyly, giving Kurt a sideways glance. "Maybe after school tomorrow? We can hold off practicing the ones you want to change so that there's still –"

"No, it's fine," Kurt sniffs, abruptly concluding the conversation. He stands and clutches his bag to his chest. "If you don't mind my asking," he says softly, "Do I know Zachary?"

Blaine laughs a little our of nervousness. "Uh-hum, no, not officially. I was going to introduce you two soon… I mean, my new best friend and my long-time boyfriend should meet, right?"

_Inconsiderate asshole!_ Kurt bristles as Blaine so casually says 'long-time boyfriend.' He stiffens and starts to walk toward the hallway. "Right. But not too terribly soon, I should hope." Didn't Blaine notice Kurt's flirting? Didn't he feel the same connection Kurt had when they met on the stairs, and Blaine took his hand? Doesn't Blaine even _care_ about Kurt's feelings (for him, but that's irrelevant)?

Kurt storms down the hallway in a huff, but just as he rounds a corner, he stops dead in his tracks.

Someone looking very out of place for Dalton (if he clothes could talk, they'd scream, "McKinley jock!"), and seemingly lost (if the crumpled map in his hands is any indication), is pacing down the opposite end of the hallway toward Kurt. He stops and turns toward a teacher in a doorway. She points on the map and then down the corridor (in Kurt's direction, at the way he just came, he notices). The jock nods in appreciation, smiling briefly, before looking up to follow her instruction.

And that's when their eyes meet.

"Karofsky," Kurt breathes, and fear and the unanswered questions from Sectionals both rise at once to meet Kurt's eyes, prickling them with tears of frustration and conflict and fright.

"Hummel!" Karofsky gasps, startled, but soon an expression of sheer deliverance crosses his face. "There you are. I've finally found you." There isn't a hint of malice in his voice.

Kurt takes a step backward, despite the fact that the athlete hasn't moved and a great distance is between them, a distance of at least fifteen feet or more.

"Keep away from me," Kurt says defiantly. "Why are you even here?"

"Please don't run, Kurt," Karofsky murmurs, a heartbroken look on his face. He takes a few steps closer, a hand reaching out. "I… just want to talk. Can we talk?"

Kurt debates with himself. Karofsky clearly has a decent reason for coming all this way. And he _did_ watch Kurt at Sectionals without making fun of him or calling out obscene things. So perhaps it wouldn't be too terrible to talk to the bully. "Fine, we can talk. Follow me; I know somewhere. But I swear to God, if you try to pull anything –"

"I won't!" Karofsky assures quickly, jogging to lessen the distance between them. He remains two feet away, clearly out of reach. "Honest. I… I'm not the guy I used to be, Kurt."

Kurt eyes him up and down. Yes, that much is evident; he lost more weight again, his square jaw line strong and prominent, his middle appearing firmer. But what for?

In the back of his mind, Kurt wonders if it's his fault. He had called Karofsky chubby that one time, back in the locker room…

Kurt leads his former tormentor into the same room Kurt had chatted with Blaine in the first time Kurt visited this school. The room is deserted, and dark. Kurt clicks on a lamp and gestures to a seat at the same table he remembers. Karofsky sits down without so much as a peep.

The soprano sits opposite the older boy and stares him down. "So what do you want?" he snaps, cutting to the chase. He wants to spend as little time with Karofsky as possible.

"I…" the jock starts, but his voice cracks lightly. He clears his throat. "Um. I mean, I just wanted to, uh, apologize. I'm sorry, Kurt. For… well, all of it. All of the horrible things I did to you. I can truthfully say that wasn't me. Er, at least, not who I was. You heard my dad in Sylvester's office, didn't you? I used to get A's and B's, you know. I was a model student. I never talked back, I always turned in my homework on time. But once I met you, I started… slipping."

Kurt watches as Karofsky looks away, feeling shame and guilt again. He coughs idly into one meaty, long-fingered hand. His nails look like they have been bitten off recently. Kurt waits in silence, giving Karofsky permission to continue venting.

"When I thought I was expelled, my old man was a little tweaked. He called the board, argued for my sake, and assured me that I was going to continue school because I deserved a second chance. I didn't think of that chance the way he did; he was thinking academically, but I was thinking socially."

Karofsky's voice keeps wavering, and his eyes keep darting between Kurt's face and their surroundings. He doesn't appear to be comfortable with spilling his guts to Kurt, as if he doesn't know _how_ to spill his guts.

"I heard you left. Hell, I even threatened Puckerman and Hudson to talk you into coming back. At first, I got even more violent. I wanted everybody to hate me. But then, I thought, what's the point? You would've been even more sure of your decision to attend _this place,_" he spits out, clearly despising the private school, "Instead of McKinley if you heard that I got worse without you there. So I decided to change."

Karofsky licks his dry lips. He must be thirsty, his mouth not used to talking so much all at once.

He goes on, "I stopped eating. My mom worries, thinking I'm depressed. I dunno, maybe I am. Whatever. I don't care. It's not so hard, and I don't mind only snacking on an orange or something every now and then. And then I dropped out of football. It's not my thing anyhow. I'm more of a hockey dude; I love the feel of ice beneath my blades, and my body gliding across the slippery surface. It's like the only graceful thing my lumbering body can do, you know?"

Kurt nods numbly. This is almost too much. But he _does_ know; he remembers ice skating with his aunt as a child, and always watching the figure skating portion of the Winter Olympics.

Karofsky laughs without humor. "Yeah, I bet you know. You seem like the type who likes figure skating. Um, not that that's a stab at your sexuality! I-I don't do that anymore. It's just, um… I know you enough to know that you might like it, that's all," he digresses. He breathes out slowly. "Uh… Hurm. Well. Anyway, I got my grades back up. Dropped French, though; I suck at it, really. I only took the dumb class in the first place because…" And he cuts himself off, cropping the sentence a little short. He glances around. "Fuck. I might as well say it, since I'm the only one talking." He takes in a sharp breath. "I only took French… because of you, Kurt. It was a sad excuse to have a class with you, something easy I could switch out of my schedule. But anyway. Um… yeah. I'm not really sure what else I wanted to say if I found you today and you let me talk." He wince-smiles. "I was hoping you would, though, and… you did. Thanks."

"Karofsky –"

The jock waves the name aside as if it disgusts him. "Dave. Please, just… Dave. I know you know my first name, so call me by it. No one's called me 'Karofsky' in a while. That's a bully's name. And I… I really don't want to be the bad guy anymore."

"Dave, then," Kurt amends. "Dave… what spurred this drastic alteration?"

Dave makes a face. "Come on, man, be gentle with me. My brain's in no shape to translate fancy words. Can you just speak, y'know, first-grade English?"

Kurt actually smiles. "And how do you think I sound normally?"

"Like fuckin' Edgar Allan Poe. All poetic and shit," Dave grumbles, but there's a smile tugging the corners of his lips.

And Kurt laughs, he actually _laughs._ It's a small, breathless giggle that slips out unintentionally. "Wow. I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."

"I'd go with flattered. Poe was an awesome writer, even if I barely understand his words at first glance."

Kurt's smile oddly doesn't fade. "Okay, then, I'll rephrase: what brought on this change of yours?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Dave mutters quietly. "_You._ You left because of me. You up and vanished, all because I was an idiot who wouldn't let up. So I fixed things, in case…" and he hesitates, his mouth forming words without sound as he falters. "W-well, in case you ever came back to McKinley," he says at last, the words sputtering and then coming out in a rush.

"Why do you even care?" Kurt says softly. "I thought you hated me."

A lopsided, sarcastic smile makes its way onto Dave's lips. "Do people kiss people they hate?"

"Oh, so you're finally admitting to what you did?" Kurt retorts teasingly.

Dave makes a face. "Yeah, I guess I am. But like I said, I'm not the same man I was. So that's why."

Kurt feels suddenly more comfortable around the jock. Admittedly, Dave Karofsky _is_ attractive, before and after his suddenly weight loss. And also admittedly, Kurt's type is a jock. He only said that Dave wasn't his type because that's when Dave had been a sadistic bastard, and sadistic bastards are certainly _not_ Kurt's type.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm… proud of you," Kurt says as last. "Whew. That was hard to say. But in all seriousness, I am oddly proud. I never thought you'd apologize to me, let alone open up a little and be so… _different._ That's earned you major props, Mr. Dave Karofsky," Kurt commends, and claps his hands together at the end. He stands. "I'm not afraid of you any longer, actually. And it's nice."

"Well…" Dave murmurs, his mind officially blown. "Great!" And he stands as well, offering a hand to shake. "So… I guess I'll see you 'round? Hopefully?"

Kurt is a hair reluctant to touch the former bully, considering their past moments of contact. Nonetheless, he relents and shakes the slightly taller boy's hand. "Yeah… see you around." And as he releases Dave's hand, something is triggered inside of Kurt, though he can't place what it is.

Dave seems to have felt it, too. His face takes on a mild expression of mixed surprise and – daresay – lust, but it quickly dissolves and Dave faintly flushes pink before turning on his heel and marching off, a curt 'bye!' falling from his lips as he dashes out the doorway and down the hall.

Kurt blinks, shakes his head, and dons his bag. As he, too, steps out of the room… he feels lighter, a burden lifted, an issue resolved, and the beginnings of _something fresh like the blank side of a sheet of paper when you turn it over_ stirring in the pit of his belly.


	3. Three::

It grows just before Regionals.

Dave Karofsky shows up, a single pink rose in hand, and by this time he looks a little too thin for his body shape and height but he's smiling gentler than ever. He thrusts the rose at Kurt, muttering, "Good luck tonight," to the other boy before retreating to the group entering the auditorium to watch the competition.

Kurt is left staring, his jaw slack and his eyes wide and unblinking. He finally blinks, shocked back to reality, when Blaine's hand comes out of nowhere, clamping down on his best friend's shoulder.

"Kurt! Hey, buddy. Ready for this?"

And Kurt turns, slowly, and offers an off-hand smile. He hides the rose behind his back. "Yeah. Totally pumped."

Blaine is peering over his shoulder, a grin breaking out on his questioning face. "Hey, is that a flower? How cute! Did your stepmom get it for you for tonight?" He wriggles his eyebrows and adds, "Or is it for me?"

Blushing a little, Kurt produces the rose. "N-neither, actually. Um… a old schoolmate gave it to me to wish me luck." It's not a red rose, Kurt notes. But it is long-stemmed and clipped of thorns, and judging by the jagged cut at the bottom, it's not from any florist. It's most likely from someone's rosebush. Not Dave's own? That would be…

"Really? That's wonderful," Blaine says, cooing. "I'm so glad. Everybody seems to miss you over at McKinley." And they begin walking toward the backstage, since they're up next.

"Yeah, I guess they do…"

Blaine is suddenly a little worried. He murmurs tenderly, "You aren't going to leave us, are you?"

A half-forced, half-willing smile appears on Kurt's mouth, making his dimples come forward. "No, I would never. I love it at Dalton. It's just… nice to be missed." He raises the rose to his nose, and he can smell it's soft, sweet scent, fresh and wild, and faintly smelling of the spicy cologne of the boy who held it last. Kurt quickly pulls the rose away from his nose, fearful of how much he likes the scent of Dave's cologne, as faint as it is.

"Time to go!" Blaine says, snapping Kurt out of his trance.

And it's back out into the too-bright lights and the heat of dancing and the itchiness of the Dalton attire.

And the entire time he performs, Kurt pretends not to notice how Dave is in the first few rows of seats near the stage this time, and he pretends not to care that Dave is smiling and staring almost dreamy-eyed at Kurt the whole time.


	4. Four::

It progresses further the week of Christmas, going into New Year's.

Kurt decides to attend a late-Christmas-slash-early-New-Year's party as hosted by Rachel Berry and her boyfriend-slash-Kurt's-stepbrother, Finn. Rachel's fathers are extremely sweet and great hosts, and even leave for a while to let the teens mingle. There is no alcohol, and yet everyone is completely "chillaxed" (as Mercedes puts it) and amused by Rachel's ideas of party games.

Her party games include – in chronological order – the following: 1) balloon volleyball; 2) truth-or-dare; 3) playing blindfold Marco Polo around the house; 4) playing spin-the-bottle-and-go-into-a-closet-for-seven-minutes-to-kiss-the-person-the-bottle-chose; and 5) going around in a circle and expressing your single greatest fears and single utmost joys as pictures on a portable white board.

Overall, it's a hectic night.

But Kurt is having fun, and just before numbers four and five roll around on Rachel's control-freak-oriented schedule, there's a doorbell pinging over the party goers heads.

"Hold on, everybody! Looks like one of my guests decided to be more than fashionably late," the brunette giggles as she tugs Finn by his arm toward the door. They say in unison, "Hi!" to the person at the door.

Kurt cranes his neck over Mercedes' and Tina's shoulders to see who it is, out of natural curiosity. Did Rachel invite Blaine and Zachary, just for Kurt? Did she invite some cousins or hers, or someone else Kurt doesn't know?

"I didn't think you'd make it," she's saying, and Kurt sees her shove a hors d'oeuvres and drink into the stranger's hands. It's a male, judging by his coat. "But I'm so glad you did. It's nice to see you outside of school, David."

"David?" Kurt murmurs, and Tina asks him what he means. But he waves it aside, taking a sip of his Sprite. Had he heard correctly? Is Rachel letting _the only Dave Kurt knows_ into the house, the one and only _Dave Karofsky?_

Unexplainably, Kurt's heart jams up into his throat and begins racing. And for once, it's not out of fear toward the individual.

As the person steps out of the entry way and removes his jacket (which Finn takes to add to the pile on the guest bed in a nearby room, Kurt notes idly), Kurt finally sees his face.

Yup. It's Karofsky all right.

And he seems to have gained back some healthy Holiday weight, not looking nearly as bony-awkward as before, at Regionals. And he's dressed in a clean button-down navy-with-thin-vertical-stripes sort of shirt with a black tee beneath it, peeking through as a little triangle of fabric between his collarbones and from under his untucked top. His jeans are a dark denim, purposely faded and a little "worn" as is the fashion. His shoes are black. And he's not wearing a belt, but _damn,_ those jeans hug his hips just right anyway.

Kurt blinks. He turns away, completely denying that he had just _checked out_ fucking _Dave Karofsky _of all people. And he doesn't want to admit, either, that he noticed Dave's freshly shaven face, his little beauty marks visible, nor his clean new haircut. Nope, Kurt definitely hadn't seen all that with one bob of his eyes, _no way, no how._

"Um, Kurtie, my dear? Yeah, we totally saw that," Mercedes says with false sweetness. She and Tina link elbows. "And we know what's going through your mind, boy."

"I haven't a clue what you're referring to," Kurt says flippantly, his eyes closed and his chin tilted away as he crosses his arms over his lean chest.

"Mm-_hmm_," the African American and the Asian hum in unison in their sassy-girl-way.

"Really. I was only –" Kurt says, about to defend himself, when he suddenly hears a voice behind him.

"Hey, Kurt," Dave mutters, trying to hold back a smile.

Mercedes and Tina seem to disappear, melting into the crowd like true matchmakers.

Damn them.

"Er, hi, Dave," Kurt stutters, surprise and light embarrassment taking over his facial features. "How've you been?"

"All right, I guess," Dave says, eying the food and drink Rachel had handed him moments ago. He offers the snack to Kurt. "Want this? I'm not really hungry."

"I think you should eat it anyway," Kurt replies gently. "I think Rachel's concerned about how thin you've become. Are you two friends? She seems to care about you."

Dave makes an unsure face. "I guess so. She… knows. About me. Uh. I mean, since she has two dads, I decided to… tell her. Well, she forced me into it since she noticed how polite I've gotten and wanted to know why and –" He shrugs, "I dunno, I guess I figured she must not be all that bitchy-and-controlling if she has a boyfriend and friends."

"You… you mean you _told_ her?" Kurt tries to sort out, looking at Dave with pleasant surprise. "That –"

"I like boys?" the other whispers, not wanting to be heard but admitting it nonetheless. He chuckles weakly. "Yeah. I told her. And I mentioned to her who convinced me that I'm not as in to girls as most guys." And he looks away, because Kurt knows all too well who Dave means. That kiss a couple months ago proves it if nothing else does.

Kurt clears his throat, watching Dave stuff the hors d'oeuvres into his mouth, most likely to keep himself from blurting anything else out. Kurt offers a half-hearted smile. "So, um, Dave… do you know why she invited you here?"

"Because we're quasi-friends," Dave shrugs, washing down the hors d'oeuvres with what appears to be Pepsi. "And… I guess she figured I could, y'know, talk to you a little."

"Why?" Kurt parrots. He doesn't know what's compelling him to ask about Dave's reasoning or why it matters so much, but it does and it is and here he goes, asking again.

Dave shakes his head, however, refusing to hand out answers like Rachel hands out hospitality. "Are you gonna dance?" he says out of the blue, gesturing to the small group of dancers near Rachel's entertainment system, thumping to the beat on the hardwood flooring.

"I-I wasn't planning on it just yet –" Kurt mutters, swallowing nervously while his hands bunch together.

Rachel walks by, Finn in her arms. "Oh, dance with us, Kurt. It's fun!" she says with much too chipper a tone. She winks at Dave, egging him on behind Kurt's back.

Kurt glances over his shoulder at the happy couple, then back at Dave. "I don't know –"

But Dave is grabbing Kurt's hand, and _Holy crap, is that the same spark I felt when Blaine first took my hand as we raced down the hall?_

A jolt of unfamiliarity courses down Kurt's spine. He's not used to this. Not used to a nice Dave, or a well-kept Dave, or a thinner Dave, or _feeling something towards Dave._

It makes Kurt shiver, but doing so seems to want to make Dave bring the slightly shorter boy (Kurt really gained a few inches on his ex-bully since they first met, huh?) even closer. The music starts to slow, bodies tired of bouncing settling down into each other like puzzle pieces, friends swaying with friends and dates with dates.

And Kurt finds himself oddly at ease with Dave against him, smelling again of that spicy-sweet, almost rustic cologne, and distantly of the snow outside.

"Have I ever mentioned how attracted I am to you?" Dave mutters quietly in Kurt's ear, his tone meek but his words solid.

Cue another shiver. Kurt really hadn't been kidding to his BFF during her tater tot crisis when he said that love was just around the corner and Dave showed up.

"No, I daresay you haven't mentioned it before," Kurt mumbles, his breath catching in his throat. "But I assumed as much."

Dave laughs a tad, and Kurt can feel the rumble reverberate into his own chest. "Yeah, I'm kinda obvious about it. Sorry if it embarrasses you."

"N-no, it's fine," Kurt says stiffly, Dave's hand growing sweaty in his. Bizarre urges to either lace their fingers together or let go entirely rises in Kurt's chest, but he quells both. A cocky smile just barely graces Kurt's lips. "It's flattering, really."

"Oh?" Dave poses, a smile of his own worming onto his mouth. "I'll keep that in mind."

And his grip tightens, curling from resting on Kurt's waist where they sway to the beat to encircling him, Dave's hand just skimming the small of the singer's back.

Something fiery and sharp pierces Kurt's abdomen and sinks lower. He gasps softly, but doesn't pull away. The proximity… it literally enables Kurt to feel the sexual tension radiating off of Dave. And it's screwed up, but Kurt thinks he might _like_ the tension. _Enjoy _it, even.

"You know," Dave says, sliding his hand out of Kurt's and using it to brush his fingertips across Kurt's bottom lip, "You have really nice lips. I always thought so, even when I angrily dismissed the idea. And ever since… _that day_… I haven't been able to get your lips outta my head."

"And it takes you one death threat, one temporary expulsion, one missing presence, and two Glee competitions to summon the courage to say that to my face?" Kurt mutters, but not unkindly. He feels possessed as he raises a hand to lightly touch Dave's most prominent beauty mark and then down, following the curve of the corner of the jock's parted lips to the divot in his chin and finally to ease off somewhere near his Adam's apple.

Dave has stopped moving, his eyes out of focus but completely entranced by the boy in front of him. No one else at the party seems to notice or care, or maybe they do, but they figure that it's about damn time, considering what they've been observing with Dave ever since Kurt left their school for another establishment.

Shattering the moment, Rachel calls out, "Time for spin-the-bottle! Get in a circle on the carpet of the living room, please, every one! And Finny-boy, please don't sit next to me. The chances of me getting a kiss from you will be better if you're on the opposing side," she grins, and she again winks in Dave's direction. "Davey, sit by me, okay? And Kurt, why don't you sit next to your step-bro?"

And Kurt can tell that things are going to go downhill from here.

Except whether this is a good thing or a bad thing is beyond him.


	5. Five::

It develops past the point of no return once Kurt spins the empty IBC Root Beer bottle, it finally being his turn, and the stupid thing lands on none other than Karofsky.

Just Kurt's rotten luck.

He feels a lump clog his throat. Idly, he raises a slim-digited hand to his neck and rests his palm on his collarbone. Kurt suddenly can't make a sound even if he wanted to, not even a sassy quip or a staggered squeak.

Dave's cheeks are _flaming_ _red._ But he's also grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Fan. Tas. Tic.

Kurt gets up with a roll of his eyes and a pleading look sent Finn's way, but Finn simply snickers and makes a kissy face at Kurt, and really, no one seems to think much of the pairing, not a single stabbing remark, nor a single look of the opposite. After all, this isn't the first homosexual group to go into the closet; Puck and Artie had to, but everyone knows they didn't do anything in there, and Santana and Brittany had to, and they made purposeful noises but came out giggling hysterically, so everybody knows that was a fake-out, too.

Except this is different. It _feels_ different. And Kurt can't tell by the knots in his gut if it's positive or negative.

Dave and Kurt step into the closet, and Kurt can't help but release a giggle, since he had first pictured Dave in the metaphorical closet every gay is in at one point, and then he's silenced when he hears Rachel murmur into the crack of the wooden door, "Remember, seven whole minutes in 'Heaven'! Don't go crazy, boys," followed immediately by a giggle.

"Devious little wench," Kurt grumbles under his breath, and Dave lets out a shaky laugh of agreement.

Then, subtly, Dave says, "I can't see a thing."

"Me either."

"You sound close, though."

Kurt feels his face grow hot. "I probably am. Sorry if I bump into you on accident or something."

A sudden rush of nearby body heat closes in, and Kurt tenses as still as a marble statue, a shiver running through him as he becomes just as cold as one.

"…What if I _want_ you to bump into me?" Dave whispers suggestively, and Kurt senses something in the darkness in front of him. It comes in the form of Dave's hand seeking Kurt's face, finding it almost instantly. He rests his palm against the soprano's cheek, callous and warm.

"Dave, we don't have to –" Kurt whispers, nearly inaudible.

"I know," Dave interrupts, "But I want to. And I only will if _you_ want me to, too." He pauses. "I won't force you. I was wrong, last time," he adds, and Kurt can hear the remorse in Dave's tone.

Kurt breathes out shallowly, his own breath tasting like stale citrus soda and Ritz crackers. He swallows. One of his hands on its own accord comes up to lay atop of Dave's. He takes a step closer, thankful he doesn't step on one of Dave's feet. "I think I want you to," Kurt murmurs. He's close enough in the dim lighting to feel Dave's breath on his face. He smells of stale Pepsi and something spicy and cheesy. Doritos? What a mysteriously tasty combination.…

"Are you sure?" Dave remarks even quieter, trying not to ruin the moment. His other hand is on the opposite side of Kurt's face, now.

Kurt nods. He can't say much more, but he knows that Dave can definitely feel Kurt's compliance.

And that's all Dave needs. He plows through the remaining space between them and attaches his lips to Kurt's. Kurt makes a humming sound; partially startled, partially moaning, and muffled through and through.

Dave's a blissful kisser. Even when Kurt had been shocked still and rejected it the first time, Kurt recognized that Dave was talented at what he did. Kurt can feel every little muscle of the athlete's lips pressing and sliding and grabbing Kurt's own inexperienced ones. He lifts himself up onto the pads of his feet to get a better angle, his hands tugging on Dave's shirtfront to get better leverage.

Dave gasps and goes from being tender and careful (and romantic) to passionate and electrifying, his tongue slipping in and Kurt gasping for breath in a _good _way. He clutches onto the shorter boy in a manner that causes Kurt to feel _desired,_ and it makes that delicious burn penetrate his lower stomach again. Kurt knows arousal when he feels it, and even though he tried to hide it before, he can't cover it up with another reason now.

Kurt's hands slide up into Dave's short hair, his nails raking down onto Dave's back, making the taller boy moan softly. He captures Kurt's lips again and again, in between puffy breaths, just to keep getting that taste he's missed and longed to have again.

Panting, Kurt searches the darkness of the closet for Dave's eyes. "You must… really like me," he mutters, his fingers idly playing a deaf tune along the back of Dave's neck.

He can feel the jock shake his head. "You… have no idea, Hummel," he breathes, one of his hands swooping down Kurt's back to lightly run over his rear. He leans in to say into the singer's ear, "How much I 'like' you."

And for good measure, he plants another slow, bottom-lip-sucking kiss on Kurt's lips, leaving the shorter boy's head reeling.

The break apart just as Rachel comes knocking on the closet door. "Thirty seconds!" she says cheerfully, and Kurt takes this time to straighten himself, and Dave fixes his own clothes and hair.

The door flies open. To the naked eye, the two boys appeared to have stood beside each other the entire time, having done nothing.

But by the way Rachel's smirking, her eyes must not be as naked.

"Have fun?" she jokes, her teasing too close to the truth for comfort.

"Not really," Dave lies, stepping out and shrugging.

Kurt follows, taking his left behind drink from Tina. Over the rim of his plastic cup, he concurs, "Yeah. We just… talked awkwardly."

"Mm-hmm," Rachel says, sounding like she understands. But she knows better. And Kurt knows that she knows better of his lie. "Sorry about the inconvenience, then," she says, grinning. She gestures back to the circle. "Shall we continue, then?"

And as Kurt sits down and Mercedes sends him a look from the right side of his end of the circle, Kurt pretends like he isn't a little turned on just then (because thankfully he isn't, you know, visibly… just inside, where it counts otherwise), and he pretends that he doesn't see the way Dave is eying him now, because, really, it doesn't quite _matter._ Mainly because, really, Dave's _not_ the man he used to be.


	6. Six::

It becomes deeper still when the last party game of the night rolls around.

Rachel seats the remaining guests (some had curfews, some were getting tired, etcetera) around her dining table. The small chandelier overhead casts an array of fake-crystal rainbows, miniature ones, all across the walls and ceiling.

"I'll start," Rachel says softly, a light smile on her face. "My greatest joy in life at the moment is having all of you with me for the Holidays." And she grips Finn's hand, and blows a kiss to her two fathers in the circle. Her smile fades. "But my greatest fear is losing one of you. I don't know what I'd do if any of you ever died." A single tear falls down her cheek, and she wipes it away with a manicured finger. She looks to Finn on her left. "Clockwise, Finn. It's your turn."

"Um, okay," Finn says weakly, his voice going out at the end. He clears his throat. "I guess… my greatest joy is seeing my mom so happy with her new husband. They've been married for about two months now, and everything is going great. I'm really happy for them." His smile, too, fades. "But… I fear them breaking up later in life because they rushed into this. It probably won't happen, but I would hate it if it did. Seeing my mom all heartbroken… it's just the worst."

Kurt nods to himself. He feels the same.

The circle continues, each confession more tear-jerking than the last. Artie admits that his greatest fear is losing more than the use of his legs, like being paralyzed from the neck-down instead. Puck uncomfortably states that his greatest joy is being out of juvie, but his greatest fear is doing something stupid in college and getting convicted for life in prison.

The chain goes on and on. Even Brittany has something remotely intelligent and sad to say; she fears something bad happening to Santana, since they're like sisters. And Santana fears losing Brittany. They cry on each other's shoulders.

It's Kurt's turn, now. He breathes in shallowly, then releases it slowly. "I… don't really know," he mumbles. "I have so many fears and joys. I find happiness in each of you. I find happiness in clothes and shoes and fashion in general." Some laughter from him, and others. "I cried from joy at my dad's wedding. That night had been… well, perfect. And, despite having to leave all of you… I do like Dalton. Its education is lovely, and the people are friendly and sweet and praise singing talents, unlike McKinley, where some of us gleeks have to hide for fear of being ridiculed." Near him, Dave visibly winces. Kurt goes on, "I think that's my worst fear. I fear the death of a loved one as much as the next person, but all of the teasing and torment and high school bullshit drama… it nearly kills. I fear human cruelty to others more than anything else. That's why I left in the first place. I tried to escape my fears. I ran away."

Some people in the circle have either gotten up and hugged Kurt from behind his chair or reached over to touch his hand or arm. Dave remains still, silent, staring at nothing.

"But as much as I fear it, I know it never truly goes away. There's always going to be hatred and pain in the world, and I just have to suck it up and face it and enjoy all of the little things that make me smile in spite of the cruelty. Things like seeing Rachel do a happy-dance over getting a solo, or having my dad praise me on a good grade on a major paper, or having a kiss." And he looks at Dave when he says this, his glance brief and discreet, but caught by Dave nonetheless.

And soon everybody is crying and laughing breathlessly, and the sharing comes around full circle two people after Kurt, ending with Dave seated beside Rachel.

"Er, well, I don't have nearly as much to say as Kurt," he begins with an air of high nerves about him, "But… I would like to say that my greatest joy would be being near the person I accidentally fell in love with –"

Kurt's face falls, turns pink, and his gaze and jaw both drop. He knows all too well who Dave is referring to, and he can't believe what he's hearing.

"– And my greatest fear is… erm… being discovered and rejected for what I actually am."

Rachel lays her hand on his forearm. "It's okay to say it, David. We're all friends here."

"I know, but I'm not sure if –"

"If it's juicy gossip, I can't promise I won't leak it," Santana remarks flippantly, but there's a small smile on her face. "But if it's really your biggest fear, I might make an exception to my usual ways."

"I'd appreciate it if you did, 'cause I'm honestly scared shitless." His face grows sour. "Especially of being kicked out of the house or sent off somewhere," Dave remarks, his tone bitter. "So if I say it…"

"Spit it out, man," Puck says, but not harshly. He reaches over and shakes Dave's shoulder. "We all spilled our guts. Now it's your turn. We're, like, bonding or whatever."

"Right. Um…" Dave stutters meekly, "It's just… uh… I'm gay," and the last part is barely above a whisper, and yet everyone in the small circle is silent enough to hear it.

"No wonder it's your fear of being found out and rejected," Quinn pipes up, finally finding her voice. She's been mostly quiet the entire night, save for when it was her turn to say her joy and fear. "I can totally see why that's so… well, _difficult_. I mean, you used to harass Kurt all the time for the same thing, and tease and bully others –"

"All to stay in the closet," Dave admits quietly. He sighs roughly, a hand running through his hair out of frustration. "I know, I know. I'm messed up. But I'm working on it, I really am. And I guess… because of all the emotional stuff going on tonight, I felt like I might as well be honest."

"I'm so glad you told us the truth," Quinn smiles gently. "It's tough, but we understand. We really do, Dave." And his first name sounds odd on her tongue, but she likes the sound of it. It makes the jock feel like a friend.

Rachel starts to cry, but she's also smiling. She gives Dave a sideways hug. "Ooh, I'm so proud of you, Dave! You did it. And now I bet you feel like a weight's been lifted, right?"

"Sorta," Dave says with a humorless chuckle. "I also feel as naked and open as a frog on a dissection tray."

"Well said," Finn laughs, reaching behind his girlfriend to give the athlete a hearty slap on the back. "But don't feel that way, man. We got your back, just like how we got Kurt's. Right, Kurt?"

Kurt hasn't said a thing. And he hasn't looked at Dave, either, even though the jock has glanced over at the soprano plenty of times now.

Kurt stiffens and swallows to clean out the cobwebs forming in his vocal cords. "Um… Yeah. Right." He finally musters up the energy to smile reassuringly and look Dave in the eye. "Actually, I'd like to talk to you about it after the party," he says, acting as though he hadn't already known.

Dave gets the hint. He nods to Kurt, and soon, everybody is hugging and singing 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' like a black gospel church, upbeat and sounding awful through everyone's emotional distress but also sounding amazing from all of the passion in it. Kurt's amazed to hear Dave singing, too, a rich tenor in the backdrop of the off-key vocal melody.

And just as soon, everyone is breaking away and saying goodbye, parting for their cars to go home. The time is just before midnight.

Kurt slips outside, and declines riding with Finn. "I wanted to talk to Dave, remember? I'm going to get a ride from him. Don't wait up for me," he jokes lightly. "I'll see you in the morning, Finn."

"Okay, bro," Finn shrugs, and he lets Artie (being wheeled by Brittany) rush past him before he goes to his car.

Dave is waiting outside of his truck, fumbling with something in his hands as he paces a couple steps up and down the length of the driver's side of the vehicle.

"Hey, Dave," Kurt murmurs kindly, walking up to the jock. He notices that the thing in Dave's hands is a kneaded eraser, a moldable, able-to-be-torn, mushy, grey blob that artists use for pencil drawings. Kurt points to it. "Stress relief, or are you secretly an artist?"

"Huh?" Dave asks, a little thrown off by the question. He opens his hand and nods at the unusual eraser. "Oh. No, I'm not an artist. My mom used to be, and she always has random art supplies lying around the house. I found a stash of these things, still wrapped, in a desk a while back, and kept them for myself. They were fun to mindlessly play with, you know? And yeah, they're better than stress balls when it comes to relieving tension."

"…Do you ramble when you're anxious?" Kurt observes, a mildly amused smirk on one end of his mouth.

Dave seems to blush, but in the low lighting of Rachel's driveway at night, Kurt can't be positive. "Um. Yeah, I guess so. It's an old habit from when I was younger. I'm surprised I still do it." And he laughs a little. He gestures to his car. "You wanna hop in? It's freezing out here, and the heat's already running. We can talk while I drive you home."

"I don't even want to know how you know where I live."

"Hey, I'm older than Finn, remember? And we were on the same team for a while. I've driven him home before, after practice. And, well, I was kind of part of the furniture incident. Sorry," he adds as he watches Kurt climb into the passenger's seat. Dave slides into the driver's rightful place and buckles himself in. Kurt has already done so. Stalling for time, Dave turns on the radio and scans for a station. He finds one, reclines back, and puts the truck in gear.

Kurt wrinkles his nose. "Ew. Your truck smells faintly of cigarettes. Do you smoke or something?"

Dave makes a face. "Oh. I thought I got rid of that smell. Guess I just got used to it instead." He pulls out of the driveway, peering over the seats behind them. "But to answer your question, no, I don't smoke. I hate smoking. But this was the only cheap car I could get, and I got it from somebody who smoked. Smokes," he says, correcting his verb tense. "Whatever."

"I see," Kurt remarks idly. He plucks a gum wrapper off the armrest on the door and tosses it onto the floor. "So, um… what I wanted to talk to you about –"

"Save it," Dave interjects curtly. "I already know."

"Dave –"

"I felt stupid even as the words left my mouth, but I couldn't stop them. And before you ask, _yes,_ it's true. I wish it fucking _weren't,_ but it is. I love you, as cheesy as it sounds." He sighs dejectedly. "So let's hear it."

"…Hear what?" Kurt comments softly.

Dave rolls his eyes. "Don't play dumb, Hummel. I know that you can't possibly like me the same way, so just hurry up and reject me already. I want it over with."

The singer flinches and turns to look out the window. Quietly, he says, "But I wasn't going to reject you."

"You say it yet?" Dave scoffs. "I thought I saw your jaw move out of the corner of my eye, but I'm kinda driving right now and the radio is still on."

Kurt grits his teeth out of mortification (he doesn't want to have to say it again!) and punches the radio button to silence the speakers. "I said, 'I wasn't going to reject you,' idiot!"

Dave falls quiet. Then, slowly but surely, a broad grins consumes his face and he lets out a relieved, ecstatic chuckle. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Kurt huffs, folding his arms over his chest as he stares out the window again. "I… kind of like you, now. I want to give you a chance."

There's a temporary silence as this sinks in. Then: "Kurt?"

"What?" he sighs.

Out of the blue, Dave's hand is suddenly on Kurt's thigh, just above his knee. "You should know better than to make me happy. It's dangerous." And his tone sounds light and playful and joking, but the way his thumb is petting Kurt's inner knee is making the younger male feel that stab of arousal again.

Dave stops at a red light and turns to look at Kurt as he retracts his hand. "We're almost to your house."

"…I hardly noticed," Kurt whispers.

"I don't want to let you go yet," Dave admits.

"I bet not," Kurt laughs, breathless, without the situation being funny.

"Can I see you again soon?" Dave asks, and the light turns green, and he looks away and starts driving again.

"…Yes," Kurt murmurs, his heart hammering so fiercely he can feel it in his fingertips.

"When?" Dave asks, and the moment has become tenser than Kurt thought possible.

"Tomorrow."

Dave laughs. "It's already tomorrow. It's past midnight."

"This afternoon, then," Kurt corrects with a ditzy smile. This feels scandalous. It sends a thrill through the soprano.

"I'll be there." Is all Dave says in return, and suddenly, Kurt is only aware of the sexual tension, the silence, and Dave pulling into Kurt's driveway, Finn's car already parked in it.

* * *

**A/N: FYI, I'm not very creative, you guys. Yeah, the whole, "greatest fears and joys and singing 'Bridge Over Troubled Water' afterward" thing? Yeahhh, I borrowed that from my friend. She was in choir - concert choir, the closest thing we have to a show choir, which is basically a Glee Club without the club - and they did that activity and sang that song afterward since it's their specialty. Obviously I changed all of the confessions to suit the characters, but the feelings were the same. :3**


	7. Seven::

**A/N: LOL finally the dirty stuff! I know each of these chapters have been short, but the entire story altogether is just under 11,000 words, and we all know that's too much to read as a oneshot, am I right? Especially in case of interruption! So I hope you don't mind this breakdown. I thought it worked better than a bunch of centered "xXx"-es. XD**

* * *

It escalates over the top two weeks after their first "date" following the party.

They're practically an item now. Not officially, since the entire school is just as out of the loop about Karofsky's sexuality as Percy Jackson was about his paternal origin in the first half of the film. But all of the Glee members know about the two. Even Mr. Shuester is vaguely aware, and while he questions how Kurt wound up dating his tormentor, he doesn't care because at least the pair is happy and Karofsky isn't abusive any longer.

The escalating event itself starts off innocently enough.

They're at Dave's house. It's Saturday, and Dave's family is out running errands. They won't be home until after dinner. They even left Dave a note, saying that he will have to heat himself up some leftovers or make something else for himself. Dave hands his boyfriend some freshly made tea (Dave himself drinks milk). They're standing at the breakfast bar in Dave's beautiful, French-countryside-styled kitchen.

Kurt makes a sad face, feeling sorry for the other boy. His family leaves him all alone, even for dinner, and they don't _care?_

Dave laughs. "Don't give me that face, Kurt. Really, it's fine. It happens every so often, and it's no big deal. I've eaten the occasional meal alone for years."

"But… don't you feel neglected?" Kurt asks softly, his eyes watery. He's adorable, Dave idly thinks.

The jock grins. "Pfft. Fuck no. I get time to myself to do whatever I want while they're gone, and for a while, I made this habit of eating ice cream for dinner whenever they pulled this all-day-errand crap on me. It's totally fine, so don't worry about it." He brings Kurt closer with a single motion of his hand on the shorter boy's lower back. "And besides," he purrs, "It's a great excuse to invite you over, sneak you into the house, and have you all to myself for a spell."

A pleasant tingling chill runs down Kurt's spine, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. Dave doesn't disappoint him. The athlete swoops down to plant a deep, fervent kiss on Kurt's lips, the sort that makes the gleek swoon and weak in the knees with all of the pure desire and love that goes into it.

Breaking the kiss, his breath coming a hair faster than before, Dave murmurs, "Want to go to my room?"

Eyes half-lidded in a suddenly lustful daze, Kurt nods.

Dave smirks. "Alrighty then."

And he takes the shorter boy by the hand and leads him up a short flight of stairs to a room down the hall and on the right. As soon as Kurt enters, he's overwhelmed by the scent of Dave and the appearance of a slightly messier version of a bedroom straight out of a home décor magazine. It's all polished pine and crisp black and bloody crimson, a small triangular flag for McKinley above the daybed, and filled with light pouring in through a tri-paneled window with a bench built below it. It's lovely in its own way, even if it's not nearly as effeminate as Kurt likes his own room. But the striking contrast to his own tastes is part of the appeal.

Without a word, the two stumble and fall onto the bed in each other's arms, ignoring the way they muss the covers and send the pillows toppling to the floor. The wooden headboard and frame rattle a smidge on impact.

They have had make-out sessions before. Secretly, it's become one of Kurt's favorite pastimes, and Dave seems not to be very shy about how much he craves Kurt's reactions, Kurt's skin under his fingers, Kurt's lips and tongue in his mouth. For someone so previously opposed to homosexuality, it's practically a miracle (Kurt takes it as a gift, anyhow).

The jock doesn't hesitate to latch his mouth onto Kurt's neck, causing the boy beneath him to gasp and squirm. "D-David," Kurt mumbles, finding his boyfriend's ear near his mouth. He takes this opportunity to flick out his tongue and lick languidly across the shell of Dave's ear and along his earlobe. He can feel the larger boy shudder, and attack Kurt's collarbone with more enthusiasm.

Their shirts fall away in between kisses on the mouth and nips and teasing licks at any expanse of skin they can reach. Dave climbs onto the bed further, successfully pinning Kurt beneath him. He stares down at Kurt for a moment, admiring the muscles under the singer's skin and with a hand, liking how Kurt's nipples turn to little buds as Dave's fingers brush and rub over them. Kurt moans, and the sound is so sweet to Dave's ears that he wants to hear it again.

Smirking, he leans down to kiss a line between Kurt's pectorals, while simultaneously rocking forward, their hips meeting.

Kurt cries out softly, the sensation new and addicting. His breathing patterns speed up, and he peers up through lids at half-mast at his boyfriend's face. Dave has an unidentified but intense expression on his face. It's a jumble of emotions, not a single one can Kurt place. But none of them are negative (unless he counts the slight uncertainty?), so he lets it slide. He smiles lopsidedly up at the other boy, and brings a hand between them to slither up Dave's chest and glide over one of his shoulders to the back of his neck, yanking him down for another kiss (surely bruising for Kurt's lips, but he cares not).

Dave is loving this. He'd be lying if he said he weren't. And unfortunately, it's beginning to show as the two of them press closer and closer, a steady rocking motion building up between them. Dave can feel the change starting to turn his jeans uncomfortable and the grappling motions downright unbearable.

"K-Kurt," Dave sputters, trying to cease all of the kissing, but Kurt simply moves away from Dave's mouth and focuses instead on the larger boy's neck and even lower to a pert nipple. "Ah–! Dammit, Hummel…" and he grinds his teeth, trying to detach Kurt from himself. "I-I said stop," he hisses, but the hiss evolves into a moan as his jaw opens when Kurt finds a particularly sensitive area with his hands, the palms caressing and the fingers skimming a spot near Dave's hips. "Fuuuuuck," Dave exhales, unconsciously leaning into the touch.

"What's wrong, baby?" Kurt teases, not one for pet-names but amused by them anyhow. "You seem a little reluctant."

"Um. _Yeah._ Because you're too g'damn talented for your own good, virgin or not," Dave grounds out through his teeth. His problem is all but suffocating him, all of his blood drawn away from his brain and making his heart race erratically. "If you keep this up, things might get… messy," he remarks. They've never made out this much before, and Dave is a little at a loss as what to do. He's never been so damn hot and bothered in his fucking _life._ Kurt drives him _insane,_ he's so sexy. And Dave's fighting every muscle in his body not to rip off the remainder of Kurt's clothes and press into his warmth and –

"Oh," Kurt says, finally grasping the concept. He can feel it against his leg, a dull throb that part of him wants to buck up against. His breath shakes as he quells the urge. "S-sorry," he says softly, and wonders if he should disengage their tangled bodies or quit being such a damn virgin and _do_ something about this situation.

A fresh wave of arousal strikes Kurt, and _Fuck it,_ he decides, _It's not like we'll go anal the first time around. It's okay to do something to assist both our "problems." _He smiles suddenly, and gives Dave's pelvis a slam with his own. Dave whimpers and bites his lip, clearly trying his hardest not to screw Kurt senseless. But Kurt doesn't mind.

"It's okay. I know you're trying to be a better man, but we've been seeing each other for longer than most of the couples at McKinley _or_ Dalton that I've seen, and I think that is enough to earn you some reward." He coyly traces a random pattern down the length of Dave's bare back, then around to his quivering stomach. "Besides, if things get messy, I promise to help you clean them up. I'd rather have a piece of you now than wait forever," he adds seductively, just barely looking at Dave's face to deduce the other's reaction.

"You'll be the death of me, Kurt," is Dave's sole response before he distracts his lover with a kiss and slips his thumb under Kurt's waistband, his other fingers already working on unlatching the button on Kurt's pants and unzipping his fly. The smaller boy gasps, but with excitement rather than surprise. This encourages Dave to continue, and even emit a gasp of his own as Kurt's fingers locate the entry point of Dave's own jeans.

Kurt's mind blanks as his pants are shed and the heat of the moment swirls around him, making him a little love drunk, a little dizzy. He unwittingly moans, only further inciting Dave.

The sensation of their undergarments – boxer-briefs for Kurt, regular boxers for Dave – falling away is barely noticed as their eyes fall shut and they let their instincts kick in, lengths gliding over each other and hands and arms wrapping and gripping shoulders and hips. Small noises slip out their lips, but they hardly noticed any of that, either. It suddenly becomes a battle of endurance, seeing who can handle the most intense waves of pleasure and raw satisfaction without release.

Kurt doesn't feel like himself. He feels as though he is lost in a burning purple and rich blue and fiery red haze, all-consuming and licking his insides with fire and electricity and nothing like any of the times he's touched himself. He feels lost and found all at the same time, because he is merging with someone on a level he's never attained in the past, and it's delicious and frightening and blissful all at the same time.

The soprano bucks up into Dave's embrace, and without thinking, he reaches a creamy-skinned hand between their flush, lightly perspiring bodies to grip both erections at once, pumping steadily. Dave moans in his ear, harsh and heavy and hot and moist and sultry. Suddenly Dave's hand is opposite is own, their fingers overlapping as Dave assists them both to the edge of oblivion, all part of the endurance test.

Kurt sputters something incoherently, and Dave groans something guttural but alluring, and Kurt can't take it any longer, he really can't, because Dave is so warm and strong and they feel just _so good, so right, so fitting _together that Kurt loses the battle. With a sharp inhale of breath slicing through his lungs, his heart skips a beat and his mind flashes white-hot along with all of his pent-up desire.

He curls into Dave, legs clinging to Dave's hips and his hands raking down the sides of Dave's back. Dave arches into the touch, feeling something warm and slippery splatter against his lower abdomen, but he doesn't care, not really, not very much. He actually almost smiles if it weren't for Kurt's damn fingernails, sending shocking lines of icy _it-hurts-so-good_ sort of pain through his ribs. And _fuck,_ Dave realizes, that feels _amazing,_ and it causes him to forfeit the endurance challenge not long after his competitor.

The collapse onto one another, rolling onto their sides facing each other. Dave fumbles to stroke the side of Kurt's face with adrenaline-shaking fingers. "Thanks for that," he whispers, and honestly, it was better than he ever dreamed.

The gleek nods dumbly, eyes still shut, even though Dave is staring at him. He feels sleepy, and too warm, and a little sticky with sweat and something else he doesn't wish to think about until later. Kurt flutters his eyes open for long enough to lean forward and place an unsuitably chaste kiss on Dave's nose.

Dave's heart nearly implodes. "Dear _God,_ I love you, Kurt," he murmurs, gripping the back of Kurt's messy, sweaty hair.

After all this time, Kurt finally says it.

"I love you, too," he whispers, and he wants so badly to sleep, but he made a promise to clean things up if they got messy.

Dave smiles. He must be reading Kurt's mind, because he says next, "Don't worry about the clean-up. We can do that after a short nap. I mean, it's only about three o'clock, and my parents won't be home until after seven tonight."

Kurt laughs tiredly, his lovely bluish-green eyes closed again. "Yeah, okay. I'll worry about it later, but only because I feel far too lazy and comfortable right now."

And the jock knows _precisely_ how his lover feels.


End file.
